“Ellen Richards, you are a heartless, arrogant woman. You need not speak yet, for I am going to relieve my mind, once for all. I am your father’s only brother, and when you were a child I helped him provide the very bread that appeased your hunger. When, later on, I became a rich man, and you were married and settled, you fawned upon and flattered me, protesting that there was nothing in the world that you would not do for ‘dear Uncle Jacob.’ Every time I returned from abroad, bringing you rich and elegant gifts, you urged me to quit my roving and come to live with you—your ‘home and heart would always be open’ to me, you said. It was the same with your brother Henry; words cost nothing, and his protestations were as fluent as your own. But when misfortune overtook me, and I returned to remain and to take him at his word, everything was changed. He received me coldly, giving me the poorest accommodations his house afforded, when before the best were none too good for me. Finally, he and his family, by their coldness, neglect, and disagreeable hints, drove me to desperation, and I left them. I came hither, hoping that your woman’s heart would prompt you to receive a sick and failing old man with the kindness and sympathy which he so much needed and craved. But I met with even a worse reception; the very atmosphere of your house when I entered it told me at once that I was an unwelcome guest. You have ignored me when you could, and when you could not, you have taken pains to make me feel like an intruder and a dependent, although your husband evidently would be glad to be kind to me, if he could do so and keep the peace. This child alone,” the old man continued, looking tenderly up into Star’s sad face, “has given me love and sympathy. Her kindness and little attentions have been like a bright spot in the darkness and loneliness of my life since coming to you; while your treatment of her has been _culpable_——” “Has she dared to complain of me to you?” cried Mrs. Richards, crimson with anger; for every word that he had uttered had been a reproach to her, and while she did not quite dare to vent her wrath upon him, she was glad of this allusion to Star, for upon her defenseless head she felt free to relieve herself. “No; she has never complained—she has even tried to conceal your treatment of her—but I have eyes and can see for myself, and it has been patent to me how her young heart has been starved, how every bright and enjoyable thing has been crushed out of her life. I know how she has had to do battle for even her education, and that you would have made a drudge and a slave of her, had you dared and your husband allowed you to do it. It is disgraceful, Ellen, for you to treat your cousin’s child in such a manner, when you owe so much to her mother——”